Browse all poems and songs in the 'Chicago Cubs' Category


You Don’t Know Jackson

by James Finn Garner

Edwin Jackson
Might have some action
Left in his fastball, batters fear,

‘Cuz Baltimore signed him
His “best” years behind him
His 12th team in 14 years.

Buck, it’s a mirage–
He can’t hit a garage,
Throws as straight as a cluster of starlings.

Looks like Duquette’s
Willing to forget
His results with the Cubs and the Marlins.

And the Tigers.
And the Padres.
And the Braves.
And the White Sox.
And the Dodgers.
And probably the Pilots.

 



Wait’ll Last Year

by Hilary Barta

Have the “Try Not to Suck” Cubs gone “kerplunk”?
Who knows why, but they’re stuck in a funk
Gone from having it all
To just average ball . . .
From up high to the muck the team’s sunk.

 



The Happening

by Laura Weck

I’d been scoffed and laughed at
Nearly all of my life.
Sox fans screamed in my ear:
“TWO THOUSAND AND FIVE!”

“Just relax,” folks would tell me,
“Ya know it’s just a game:
The pleasure is in watching.
The winning is only fame.”

So every year I always watched.
I laughed and boy I cried,
Religiously taking vitamins
Just in case I’d die.

I vicariously watched the Red Sox
And kept close eye on the score.
So happy was I when they took it all
Back in 2004.

Would I ever experience this pure joy,
When on the north side bells would chime?
Could a World Series ever happen here,
Preferably in my lifetime?

Throngs of people now sport Cub gear,
No longer do I feel alone
After the brilliant harvest
Theo had so thoughtfully sown.

I wonder did it really happen
It still feels a bit like a dream
I take pride in telling White Sox fans:
“TWO THOUSAND AND SIXTEEN!”

 



Tinker to Evers to Chance

by David E. Matthews

Many’s the times I’ve seen it
.    When imminent gloom turns to glee:
From Tinker to Evers to Chance
.    To end the inning, mark it 6-4-3.

From third to second to first,
.    All around the horn,
They proved themselves the greatest
.    Double play combination ever born!

Tinker goes deep into the hole
.    And cleanly picks the ball,
Throws a dart to second base,
.    The ump calmly makes the call.

At second Evers gets it
.    Just the way he likes,
He pivots, the ball vanishes
.    In a blur as he jumps the spikes.

Chance stretches incredibly
.    As he waits at first,
He gloves the ball, the batter swears,
.    And so the out is pursed.

This is not to say that they never erred,
.    Kicked the ball or muffed the play,
But only that they always tried,
.    Then let the ump have his say.

There is this, then, in contemplation,
.    The base between effect and cause:
That unpredictable expectation
.    Is one of Nature’s laws.

 



September 23, 1908

by Laura Weck

In baseball, as it is in life,
Not always everything will stay the same–
Rules may change further down the road
As they could in a baseball game.

In life when you err, you may
at times find an atoner,
But not so with baseball
and “Fred Merkle’s Boner.”

Though there was great world news
Back in those days,
Nothing could overshadow
Poor Fred’s Bonehead play

That year was a roller-coaster
Predicting which of the teams might play
and that was only decided
On the season’s very last day.

That stellar season would provoke
Even Joe Tinker to rub,
“If you don’t furiously hate the Giants,
You aren’t really a Cub.”

After that year I can’t fathom
That ever again there will be
As thrilling a contest, as that on
September twenty-three.

It was the bottom of the ninth
The score tied one to one,
With Merkle standing at first
and anxious to run.

The Polo Ground fans were a rowdy bunch
Often storming the field
After a tumultous win, never imagining
Their team to another would yield.

New York’s Birdwell hit one
Allowing McCormick get home.
Rookie Merkle rounded second, then
To the clubhouse he’d roam.

The fans stormed the field not knowing
Johnny Evers had been guaranteed
A new rule that now
The players must heed.

The folks perched on poles
Came close to falling.
When New York got the loss
The fans started bawling.

They spat and they fought
When they learned of the loss.
So irate the ump, to the stands
The “winning” ball he’d toss.

In public they jeered him.
They told him he stank.
So distraught was Fred Merkle
His tombstone was left blank.

 

AL East

NL East

Extra Innings

AL Central

NL Central

Poems by Type

AL West

NL West

Heavy Hitters

Copyright 2007 Bardball.